A Garden of Memories
by xgravitational
Summary: A collection of short one-shots and drabbles of character-defining moments in Caroline Forbes' life. All are Caroline-centric. Some follow the shows canon but some go way into random little AUs and may develop into more at another time.
1. 9-10-09

September 10th, 2009

"Are you sober yet?"

Everything felt so... heavy. Caroline's woozy head drooped in the cradle of her hands, causing the blonde wisps of her hair to break free of whatever hold the night's hairspray continued to have so that it dipped into her line of sight and blurred the vision of her already ponderous eyes. Her chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths as she sat in the dimly lit booth of the Grill, Bonnie seated across from her with a lukewarm cup of coffee placed on the table between them as they waited for the buzz of the alcohol to pass, and the young blonde remained uncharacteristically silent. As the hour continued to drag on, the substantial weight of unspoken words was slowly settling atop Caroline's already sagging shoulders. Even her friend's words weren't enough to coax her from the quicksand of her thoughts, a lazy "nope" just barely making its way from her lips in response.

"Keep drinking," Bonnie said, pushing the cup of coffee closer to Caroline, and effectively pulling the girl's attention from the design in the grain of the table. "I've gotta sober you up and get you home. I've gotta get me home."

"Why didn't he go for me?" She asked, effectively cutting her friend off. Her blue eyes were surprisingly clear, given her current hazy state, as they turned to look at her friend with the most subtle hint of a watery sheen having been building at her lash line throughout the latter part of the night. Even those tiny, unshed dewdrops behind her eyes held an unimaginable weight within her - each easily possessing the pressure of the ocean and crashing against her self-esteem with their unforgiving burden. "You know, how come the guys that I want never want me?"

"I'm not touching that," Bonnie unhelpfully added with the shake of her head.

"I'm inappropriate," Caroline continued, paying no mind to her friend's words, or lack thereof, while her fingertips pressed lightly to her temples and her eyes drifted off - once again lost in her thoughts, "I always say the wrong thing, and…" She sighed as her hands curled up under her chin, helping to steady her tipsy sway, "Elena always says the right thing. God, she doesn't even try and he just picks her." Her voice pitched as she spoke, revealing the anxiety that had built up within her more and more over the past hour that they'd sat in that booth, every moment spent under the poor lighting of the Grill with the warm, well-worn vinyl of the seat creating subtle indentions in the skin of her bare thighs. Bonnie being with her was more of a duty than a choice, 'keep an eye on Caroline' being an unsaid rule between their little group of friends, and the other girl's presence was just acting as yet another reminder of the misadventure that had been her night. What had begun as a fun tradition - a party that was practically considered a birthright of the returning students of Mystic Falls High School - and pristine opportunity to make an impression on the new guy in town had quickly proven to be just another of the cloudy, shallow, and forgotten nights of Caroline's life, constantly in the shadow of Elena Gilbert's eternal and brilliant sunny days. "And she's always the one that everyone picks, for everything, and I try so hard and… I am never the one."

"It's not a competition, Caroline."

As if finally catching on to Bonnie's additions to the conversation, Caroline's light eyes drew upwards to meet the Bennet girl's own dark hues. She searched them for even the slightest hint of understanding, reaching out with desperate pleas for Bonnie to just hear her for once; for her to listen to the meaning that bled from her heart and stained her clothing like a bullet wound every time that it went unrecognized, begging to be acknowledged and understood rather than to simply be taken at face value and pushed aside. Everything felt so heavy: her thoughts, her heart, her eyes, her words. Every little piece inside of her struggled with the weight, the tiny strings inside of her quivering from the unyielding strain of the emotions that those in her life continued to deem inconsequential. Everything about her felt loaded down and excessive and oppressed and just ... heavy.

"Yeah," she finally spoke, her eyes finding no solace of comfort in the dark pools of Bonnie's iris'. She didn't understand, she had no reason to. Elena and Bonnie had always basked in the light together, neither feeling the need to prove themselves in order to stand out amongst their peers or to alter themselves in any way in hopes of gaining approval and affection. Caroline gave her head a small, incredulous shake, "it is."


	2. 9-16-10

September 16th, 2010

Caroline sat on the edge of the trailer with a heavy thud, as if her petite frame were merely a mask hiding a weeping statue of granite and marble underneath, and did her best to ignore the thrill and excitement that welled up inside of her to tangle synonymously with the spikes of terror and revulsion. It all played out in her mind so clearly and filled her with an unimaginable weight. The night air that surrounded her was thick with the energy of the carnival that pulsated around her. The blood of the carnival worker that lay lumpy at her side still coated her taste buds, leaving a rusty aftertaste as it had made its way down her throat with each pull on her victim's veins. The purr of the insatiable hunger was already beginning to regroup in the pit of her stomach.

She was a killer... a _murder_.

A **monster**.

"He's dead," She repeated, having sensed Damon Salvatore's presence without even needing to lift her eyes from the dark red blood stains that dripped from her hands to the grass below. Feeling the gentle touch of his hand brushing the hair from her face, she looked up and was quickly overcome by a monsoon of guilt when she looked into his eyes only to be met by her own horrific reflection. "I killed him. What's wrong with me?"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he crooned, his hand moving to rub her arm soothingly with his voice as smooth as velvet as if he were a hunter and she the wild, feral cat that he had been coaxing into his trap. "I can help you."

"You can?" She asked, her breaths coming in quick, jerky motions - her anxiety and relief battling for precedence inside of her. Even with the weeks of manipulation, lying, and abuse of her un-compelled memories of their time together so fresh in her mind, she still couldn't fight the urge to trust him in that moment. In spite of everything that he'd done to her, she still held out hope for a version of him that would care for her, that would want to end her suffering and lead her into the light that she'd so desperately been trying to find.

"Yeah," he said, simply, as he discreetly removed the wooden stake from his back pocket. "I have to."

"What are you gonna do?"

"The only thing that I can do," he explained as he brushed a crimson stained lock of hair back behind her ear, his other hand moving to rest against the lip of the trailer - stake in his grip and clear for her to see. "I'm gonna kill you."

As if her heart weren't already reeking havoc in its attempts to escape the confines of her chest, the speed of her heartbeats hastened once more until it felt as if she might combust. Every heavy, erratic pound of her heart vibrated throughout her entire body as if the organ had been replaced by the energizer bunny. In a motion much quicker than she believed herself possible, Caroline slid from her sitting position and out of the cage that Damon's arms had created around her until she stood in front of him. Unable to contain the excess energy that coursed through her, she paced and fidgeted in the small space that she inhabited. "P-please don't. _I don't want to die._ "

"Yeah, but you're already dead," he explained, his tone filled with too much logic for her mind to work around in her current state.

"No, I'm not." She insisted as her desperation for him to hear her words became as obvious as the dead body that had been momentarily forgotten not fifteen feet away. "Don't say that, okay?" The high pitch of Caroline's voice peaked as her emotions continued to build and bubble beneath the surface. How could he not see that she wasn't dead? That she had been the one to do the killing? That she was alive and breathing but more, somehow, and that she needed him to save her from whatever it was that she'd become.

"Okay-"

"Just help me. _Please, help me._ "


	3. 2-11-13

February 11th, 2013

It all began with the silence as it stretched out its wispy fingers to touch every inch of her being with a cold and soothing caress as if to say It is alright, now. I'm here and I will make it all better. As she moved through the halls of her childhood home with nothing but the echoes of her steps to fill the air, Caroline became extremely aware of the lack of noise. The house was no longer filled with her friends and other well-wishers that wished to offer their condolences, there was no music or television left playing, and the police scanner that she had grown accustomed to hearing since adolescence sat lifeless in its spot on the counter. As if the universe had decided to mute itself in her presence, even the fabric of the intricately folded flag refused to rustle when she carefully placed it within the triangle shaped frame she had been provided. Just leave it to me. The silence whispered to her without words as she picked up one of her mother's sweaters that had been discarded on the sofa and brought it up to her nose, coaxing all of her restless thoughts to bed while luring her stronger, more resilient inhibitions out of the darkness where they normally resided. She closed her eyes as she inhaled the naturally sweet maple and lavender scent that had always clung to Liz Forbes like an expensive perfume, filing away the memory before welcoming the silence further and her breath caught in her throat. Don't fret, it breathed as it curled around her nerve endings and became entangled with her veins, It is going to be okay.

"I said I was fine, Elena," she said in a smooth, controlled voice that sounded so odd in comparison to the noiselessness that filled her.

"I don't believe you."

After taking a deep breath, Caroline turned to face the brunette that filled her doorway.

"All day something's been bugging me," Elena continued, not waiting for a welcome. "You wanted to pack this all in so quickly like you had somewhere that you needed to be. I mean, you were so concerned with getting through today without a hint of how you'd feel tomorrow and then I realized… you don't want to feel tomorrow. That's the plan, right? You're not going to feel tomorrow. Because you're going to turn it all off."

"I thought that I could get through the rough patch and then just pick myself up after like I usually do." The blonde shook her head, heavy eyelashes blinking rapidly in an attempt to keep the moisture in her eyes at bay. "But then Damon made me realize that it's just going to get worse."

"You're listening to Damon?" Elena asked, her timbre moving with her obvious confusion.

"Well, I can't do worse, Elena, okay? I didn't even think there was a worse. It's better this way."

"Better? Care, you're talking about flipping the humanity switch. There is nothing 'better' about that."

"That is your experience," she snapped, "okay, I have more control over my vampire self than you ever did. My experience will be different."

"It's not going to be different, Care, it's going to be deadly. You saw what happened to me when I did it."

"Yeah, that's my point, Elena! You did it. You couldn't handle the pain when your brother died so you turned it off. Damon died so you erased all of your memories. Stefan moved to Savannah and became an auto mechanic. What? Do you think you guys are the only ones who get to escape grief?"

"You just mentioned two of the biggest mistakes that I ever made."

"Were they mistakes?" Caroline asked, "because when you came out on the other end, the worst part of your pain was gone. And that's what I need. I just need the pain to be gone."

I can do that, spoke the silence once more.

"My mom is dead, Elena. And I… it hurts so bad I can't breathe. I can't do worse. I can't. Okay? I shouldn't have to."

"You shouldn't. It's not fair. You shouldn't have to." Elena spoke as she pulled her into a hug, one of her hands moving to cradle the back of Caroline's head as if she were a small child that was in need of a warm embrace. "Please listen to me."

As Elena continued to talk, the chill within her bones began to give way to a numbing sensation as her hot tears and flushed skin were slowly being kissed by internal snow flurries that chilled her to the bone and covered her anxieties under ice and snow. Aren't I a nice change? It had silently sighed as it dimmed the lights inside of her until it seemed as if she were in a state of midnight, Don't I make you feel better?

It was only after the last of her inner light had been hidden away and the scene was truly set that the monster made its appearance within her. It didn't act as she had always were no dripping fangs or black eyes, no trail of bodies and destruction left in its wake. It was only a girl - a monster of a girl, but a girl nonetheless - whose shoulders didn't share the same weight, whose eyes weren't clouded by tears, and whose heart wasn't as utterly broken as her own. Why don't you let me fix it all for you? The monster had said in her own, coaxing voice. You need time to heal. Let me make this right.

"I'm not gonna let you do this," Elena was saying, unaware of the pieces that were clicking into place beneath Caroline's skin until the blonde's hand gripped at her neck and gave it a sharp yank to the side.

Turn it off and I will make everything go away.

"That's not your choice to make," Caroline and her monster said in unison, speaking through the same pair of lips, as she stared down at the limp body of her friend that now decorated her living room floor.


	4. Interview With A Vampire

"...but the echo began in some indescribable way to undermine her hold on life. Coming at a moment when she changed to be fatigued, it had managed to murmur "Pathos, piety, courage - they exist, but are identical, and so is filth. Everything exists, nothing has value." - E.M. Forster, A Passage to India

1791 - New Orleans, Louisiana

Despite the poetry of spring and all of the rebirth that is supposed to come with it, the only thing that Caroline Forbes was met with in the warmer months was a dark and rancid despair fit for the coldest of winters.

It was in early March when William Forbes set out on a journey up the Mississippi with a small fleet of ships loaded to the rim with last seasons profits in tow, only for the various vessels to be overrun and disbanded somewhere along the way. He was pronounced dead immediately and without suspicion or cause for investigation. Pirates, they had said - they being the single ship out of the five that had managed to return home with a completely unharmed crew and no apparent losses to its manifest - had taken them by storm under the veil of night. The men swore on all that was holy that Bill Forbes had died a hero, a man of honor defending his men, his ship, and his cargo with his last breath. Caroline, however, had her suspicions in regards to her father's disappearance. Suspicions that only deepened when not a week later, his second in command, Stephen, abruptly abandoned his post within the Forbes' great indigo plantation in favor of exploring 'new horizons', taking a large sum of her family's remaining wealth with him. It was no surprise when Caroline's mother had fallen shortly after, driven to suicide by a mixture of grief and shame that had settled over their home since her father's abandonment.

For two days, the young woman had sat beside her mother's casket in the parlor with the shutters drawn tightly closed and only the shadows to keep her company. Caroline had stared at her mother's face until spots appeared before her eyes and she could feel the welcoming sway of unconsciousness looming. Still, she forced herself to stare - to study the odd angle of her mother's head as it rested on the silken pillow in comparison to the swan-like way she had always managed to elongate it just so and the discoloration that darkened the tips of her elegant fingers that had danced across ivory keys and worked intricate braids in her hair - until she could hardly endure the pain and the smell of decay a moment longer. Even months later, with the plantations sold, her grief buried, and Caroline moved into a townhouse in the city, she could not seem to escape the pain that ricocheted inside of the empty space that now filled her chest where her heart had once rested. She could think of nothing but her complete and utter solitude in life, her father lost to another life and her mother buried beneath the dirt and gravel of St. Louis, and so she gave little care to the social norms and delicacies that she had once held so dear.

Instead, she lived like one who wished to die but lacked the courage to do so, herself. She tested fate every chance that she was presented: walking black streets and alleys alone, drinking until her head was an unnavigable sea of thoughts, and passing out in cabarets within the company of those that knew her for little more than the finery that she wore and the currency that lined her purse. It was that same disregard for self preservation that lead her into the bowels of the French Quarter that night, with no thoughts outside of the promise of champaign and some semblance of a distraction from the black ache that filled her tired soul.

To Caroline's great annoyance when she arrived, the opera house was full with every box spilling over and each seat from the stalls to the Heavens occupied. She had chosen a seat in the second row - the private box that her father had purchased long ago feeling less appealing than a moonlit stroll through St. Louis Cemetery - so close to the stage that she could see the pearls of sweat dancing across the performer's painted cheeks and feel the heat of the spotlights burning, but still the chatter of the crowd gritted away at her nerves. The music of the first act had been sloppily performed and only served to feed her agitation as she, unlike the majority of those in the audience, attending with the sole purpose of being seen out and about, wanted nothing more than to become lost in a world that the performance created. She had chosen the evening's activity from a place that had once been filled with great passion rather than one of vanity, the prospect of the caress against her ears proving to be much more appealing than that of another suitor's greasy compliments in hopes of claiming her - and what was left of her family's fortune - in marriage or the prospect of yet another moment alone with her misery. She wanted nothing more than to feel the music; the fine white hairs on her arms standing on end as the tempo peaked, or the swell within her chest as the aria comes to a close. When she exited the building less than an hour later after finding little to no relief in the arms of the symphony's lackluster performance, she once again took to the darkness of St. Charles Avenue in search of a release from life.

2017 - New Orleans, Louisiana

The beat of the bass rattled against Danielle's bones as she moved in the dark club, each step taking her deeper into the sea of dancing people and making her feel oddly weightless amongst the pressure of writhing bodies. The air was thick with humidity and small beads of sweat had begun to slither from her hairline to the base of her spine from the moment that she'd walked through the door. It made her grateful for the sheerness of the small scraps of dark, shimmery fabric of her outfit, sure that she would be reduced to little more than a puddle on the dance floor if she had decided to don anything more substantial. Even with her familiarity with the club, she had spent the night thus far on edge for a reason that she couldn't quite put her finger on with everything from the steady beat of the music and the sway of the crowd, to the heavy gaze that she felt on her but had failed to meet causing her to question every sway of her hips and flirty smile that allowed her to blend in with the crowd.

It had been nearly forty eight house since she had left the small, sparsely lit apartment where she had met with a mysterious woman that shared her face and had given her the story that was going to change her life. A story that had already changed her life. Caroline had been a vampire - an honest to God, sleep in a coffin, burn in the sunlight, fangs-are-to-straws-as-blood-is-to-fruit-punch vampire! - and she had spent the night retelling the events of her some three hundred years of life with a pain shining within her cerulean eyes that the young writer knew she would never be able to describe with perfect accuracy.

When the vampire had completed her tale, Danielle Molloy had founded herself speechless for the first time in her life with her eyes wide as she processed all that she had just been told and the vampire sat before her perfectly collected, with her porcelain hands folded neatly on the table and her red rimmed eyes fixed on the turning tapes of the old school voice recorder that had documented their encounter. Danielle took the opportunity to study the creature that looked so much like herself, yet so different. Where her own face was still full of the roundness of her youth, Caroline's was so gaunt that he veins of her temples showed as if she had been carved out of marble rather than flesh and bone and she sat so still that only her eyes evinced life.

In the hours that had followed, long after the vampire had bid her a final warning of her tale and the sun had risen high in the sky, Danielle had listened to the tapes repeatedly, furiously scribbling down notes as she the even, musical voice recanted her tale of mystery and woe. "It was a very warm evening, and I could tell as soon as I saw her on St. Charles that she had someplace to go…"

She had made quick work of her notes - Katherine Pierce... off St. Charles Avenue… enjoys being at the center of attention - before diving into her research. All of her digging had lead her to this place, this pulsating club on the outskirts of New Orleans' red light district, with a palpable desperation for the story to be continued and all but a bullseye painted on her back.


	5. Soulless

Caroline could hear her heartbeat as it raged behind her ribcage, each rabid pump echoing in her ears as if it were attempting to match the tempo of the throbbing base of the party. Even as she danced, her arms around a pair of unfamiliar shoulders while his hands gripped at her swaying hips, her body had begun to shake with the extra adrenaline and the anticipation of what the night still had to offer. Dipping her head so that her forehead presses to the stranger's cheek as they move together amidst the crowd, she takes a moment to revel in the smell of his heated blood. When her hand slides down to find his, their fingers intertwining, before leading him off of the dance floor with her focus on the raging pulse point in his wrist and the hunger that burns in the pit of her stomach.

As soon as they disappeared into the cover of the dark hallway she felt his lips begin their assault on her skin as his greedy hands made their way up and down her sides. Even as he caged her so that her backside is pressed against wall and groped her to the point that she could count his fingers where they gripped at her skin, her only thoughts were of how his blood would taste; how he would look with the light draining from his eyes. He smelled like mint toothpaste and woodsy based cologne beneath the salt of his sweat, and his breath came his short puffs of air against his collarbone while she was suspended between his hard frame and the wall. He paid no mind to her roaming hands - he had even let out a small growl of approval when she had ripped the fabric of his shirt away - only for his body to stiffen when her fist entered his chest and tore free a moment later, his still beating heart sputtering under the pressure of her manicured nails.

It wasn't long after she had made the decision to turn off her humanity that she discovered that there is a morbid sort of fascination in opening someone up to see what lies within them. This 'soul' which is made so much of - in which organ does it reside? Can you puncture it with the teeth? Shred it apart between the fingers? As Caroline stood there, heart in hand, she wondered if she had felt her prey's soul shutter or if it was what made him taste so sweet. Was it a tangible thing that she could sniff out and save for later?brbr

What happened to hers when she had been turned from a scared teenager into a creature of the night? Does it lie somewhere within her still, withered and parched — a thing to be put out of its misery? Or did she never really have one at all?


End file.
